


Ten Years

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Bisexual Prompto Argentum, M/M, Pining, Prompto has some hangups, Self-Esteem Issues, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, also i hate cindy's design its horrible and deserves death, body image issues, i apparently like making my favourite characters cry so, not beta read we die like men, please save the poor boy, set after the ten year timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ten years does a number on someone. It has a way of putting things into perspective, of cutting you up into tiny little pieces before it reassembles you again but worse. Prompto isn’t entirely sure the analogy makes sense, but it seems apt regardless.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	Ten Years

**Author's Note:**

> Prompto was my favourite character and you can BET I have so many fics on my mind featuring him. This was very rushed since it's like midnight and im sick but shhh.
> 
> Honestly I'm not super proud of it but I have a headache and just want to put this out there to the world anyway.

Ten years does a number on someone. It has a way of putting things into perspective, of cutting you up into tiny little pieces before it reassembles you again but worse. Prompto isn’t entirely sure the analogy makes sense, but it seems apt regardless.

He didn’t think he’d ever hit thirty after the darkness took over—hell, he didn’t even think he’d hit twenty when he was a teenager, wondering whether his body would ever look the way he wished it did. Those times were almost simpler than the eternal, daemon-infested darkness. Those times were almost preferable to a life without his best friend.

Prompto is on a hunt when he receives the news; one he gives up entirely just to get to Hammerhead first. He stops, considers his catch for a sparse little moment, before turning on his heels back to the truck and stowing his gun. He feels a little trigger-happy still, cast in the darkness with little more but a lantern strapped to his hip, but he honestly doesn’t care. He can forgo a hunt to meet up.

As he hops into the driver’s seat, alone, Prompto hides the familiar loneliness that lingers in the pit of his stomach. It was always so much easier to be alone than to pretend he wasn’t suffering with Noctis gone. But now…

Gladio and Ignis meet Prompto before Noctis gets there, Talkott apparently taking his time. Prompto can scarcely control his excitement, his nerves fraying at the seams that leave the other two men practically shifting away. They aren’t nearly as close as they used to be. They each dealt with Noct’s departure in their own way, and though he knows it wasn’t fair on any of them they could have at least tried…

It’s a useless little thought, he reminds himself.

When Noct does get there, it takes every ounce of his self-control not to throw himself at the man, but once he gathers himself, he realises just how old they’ve all become. While perhaps not old in the scheme of things, they’re a far cry from the bright-eyed twenty-somethings they used to be. Now he sees a group of old men fighting a losing battle.

But he can’t let that thought scare him too much.

Ignis still can’t see, not that eyesight is really worth much now in the eternal darkness of the world, and Gladio let his horrible haircut grow out. Noctis… Prompto looks away before the man catches his stare. He looks good with the beard, he realises, but tries not to let it show how much that scares him.

Later, Prompto would realise just how much he missed his best friend, just how much he wanted nothing more for all these years to be spent in the company of a man he never really thought he’d see again. Only once they’ve passed the point of no return, once they’ve gone to bed for the final time in a tent just barely big enough for the four of them does he realise that he was in love with Noctis all along.

It’s a horrible little thought, one that makes him cry because this may be the last time he ever sees the man alive despite only having reunited barely a few hours prior. Much to his chagrin, Noctis appears to be awake.

“Why are you crying?” Noctis asks, voice tired and eyes barely wide enough to even see. Was Prompto being loud? He quickly tries to smother the sobs that wrack through his chest.

“You know me, dude,” Prompto whimpers, slapping on a smile as if that would hide the tears. He shrugs, almost nonchalantly, “I’m just…” But he has no answer for Noctis; not one that he can tell at the very least. He can’t just say that he only just realised that he was in love with his best friend; he can’t say that he missed the raven-haired man all ten years he was gone; can’t say that he wants nothing more than to embrace the man and carry him away so he can’t get himself killed.

It just wouldn’t be fair to the world.

Noctis stares at Prompto for a long time as he cries, desperately wiping at his flushed cheeks. It doesn’t seem right, to just lay there and let his sobs be heard, and so he simply turns onto his back as if returning to sleep, but soon he hears a rustling and then Noctis’ face is in his vision once more. Almost childishly, Prompto squeezes his eyes shut.

“Please just leave me alone dude,” Prompro grimaces, sucking in his bottom lip and biting down until the physical pain dulls the edge on the emotional pain. It’s still there, but it’s easier to bear as he attempts with little success to gather himself. It’s only when he feels the pressure of a hug that he manages to open his eyes, his best friend simply pulling him into his arms in an awkward show of companionship that neither have been used to for some time now. Were it ten years ago this may have been comforting, but as it was it was barely enough.

“You’ll survive,” Noctis whispers, his voice quavering just slightly.

“I’m not sure I will,” Prompto admits in the space between them.

And later, when all is said and the battle is over, it feels like a part of him died with his king.

Ten years is a funny amount of time to spend pining over a man who doesn’t exist, but when he returned it cut Prompto up into tiny little pieces before it reassembled him again but worse. At first Prompto wasn’t entirely sure the analogy made sense, but once he truly felt pain he knew exactly what he meant.


End file.
